A Toast to Eternity
by ivydurden
Summary: For centuries vampires and werewolves have been in war. Any sort of relationship with the enemy are strictly forbidden - but then again, Sherlock was never fond of following the rules. Vampire!AU. Sherlock/John. Future slash. Updated monthly.
1. Chapter I

**Title: **A Toast to Eternity  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Sherlock/John  
><strong>Note: <strong>Vampire AU.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17 in later chapters.  
><strong>Description:<strong>For centuries vampires and werewolves have been in war. Any sort of relationship with the enemy are strictly forbidden - but then again, Sherlock was never fond of following the rules.****

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><p><strong>Chapter I<strong>

The situation wouldn't be normally like this - if he had gotten the lead before that damn hound he wouldn't be bleeding on the dirty forest ground. With effort, he managed himself to sit up and lean against a close tree trunk. His hand was placed firmly on his stomach, where all the blood was coming from. Taking his hand cautiously off his wound, he groaned with pain. It was pretty nasty, some of his organs could be seen if looked inside carefully. He put his hand on it again, trying to keep it closed and to keep the blood from spilling.

Sherlock was extremely frustrated. His eyes moved towards the dead wolf beside him, covered with blood and nearly entirely mutilated. _Why do these dogs insist on this war? If he had not killed one of my sisters, I wouldn't be here right now_. He thought, angrily, glaring at the werewolf, triple the size of an average wolf. For a while, he continued to sit like that. Vampires had the ability to heal themselves, sure, but this wasn't a normal wound; it would probably take a day or two to completely heal. It was a werewolf bite, the only thing capable, besides a stake to the heart, of killing them if stricken really badly.

He tried effortlessly to get up, and with that, he fell back to his previous position, head banged on the bark behind him. His legs were shaking and he was sweating cold. Stained with blood, he dragged his fingers to his forehead to wipe off the sweat, only managing to get blood over his face. His ears captured a sound, distant, but in no way unrecognisable: _a howl_. There was another one, and it was close. His scent was failing him - he would've smelled the creature if he hadn't been so weak from his last fight. Also, his ears weren't functioning as he hoped to. He had to move, fast.

He tried one more time to get up, but fell back again. _Damn it! If only he could only manage to get himself up!_. Crawling wouldn't be much use - he would leave an enormous trail behind, which would practically mean begging to be attacked. He thought about a hundred ways to get out of the place, but since he couldn't stand up, they were all useless. He heard leaves cracking behind him. _Too late_, he gave up. He didn't have enough strength to fight, it would be better off to be finished peacefully. By closing his eyes, he focused on the scent his killer would have - he smelled like cinnamon, pretty nice and unusual for a hound -. He could hear him getting closer, the warmth emanated from a werewolf was something incredibly noticeable.

Still with his eyes shut, waiting, nothing came. He then returned to opening them, and saw the creature before him. He had it's chest risen, ash blond fur that shined in the moonlight. His golden eyes looked into Sherlock's blue ones. _Beautiful_.

Nothing happened for a few moments, they just remained there, silent, looking at each other. It was like they were in some kind of trance - unable to move or to leave the other's eyesight. Sherlock admired the creature before him, _his future killer_, he assumed, that was now moving closer towards him. His body was steadily resting on the tree trunk, the back of his head was hurt from all the times he crashed on to the bark. The hound was eyeing him curiously, his gaze fixed on Sherlock's eyes. His nose drifted to Sherlock's hand, sniffing the blood that was over it, and he examined the wound for a brief moment. He looked up again, though now with an expression that somewhat showed compassion. Sherlock managed to escape a painful laugh, the situation was absurd. _A dog, showing compassion? Impossible_.

The wolf caught the sight of his laugh, and continued to stare into his eyes, seriously. Sherlock was taken by surprise, leaving his mouth half open with the moment. He proceeded to take his hand off the wound, as if granting the creature before him to view the damage. It sniffed the wound and it's surroundings, and did something Sherlock did not expect. The wolf bent down. As if it were asking Sherlock to hold on to him. "_What_..." The rest of the phrase was left unsaid and he took his other hand to grab the hound's fur, attaching himself on the top of the dog's body. The werewolf then started to walk, dragging Sherlock along with him. As Sherlock adjusted to the movements it made, it's pace got faster; until finally starting to run while casually dodging the forest trees and roots.

It invaded the vampire territory now, an incredibly dangerous move. If any other vampire scented him, he would probably be killed. It went deeper in the territory, up to a point where it was almost certain to be found. Stopping the run, it leaned down towards a tree. Sherlock let go of the animal's fur and rested on the tree trunk. With small smirk on his face, Sherlock looked once again into the animal's golden eyes.

That wolf had been the most beautiful creature Sherlock had ever seen, this was his last thought before passing out.

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><p>Sherlock woke up in his coffin. He stared to the inside of it's lid, velvet red, before finally pushing it open without many problems. He found himself in a familiar room with walls made of large stones. The only illumination present came from the candelabrums in the dark corners. He looked to his stomach, partially healed. His white shirt was now ruined, it's front was ripped apart. Sherlock took it off and leaped out of the coffin, directing himself towards the main room. He was hungry.<p>

"There you are," A familiar voice echoed from the dining room when Sherlock arrived upstairs. He made an annoyed expression but leaded himself to where it came from, it wasn't like he could run away, after all, they lived in the same place. "What did you get yourself into yesterday, my dear brother?"

The room was large, at it's centre was a dining table carved with one of the most expensive woods - it was probably over a hundred years old -. Mycroft was sitting on it's end, with a glass of blood in his hands. There was another glass already poured by the seat at the other end, clearly meant for Sherlock.

"I went hunting the werewolf that was getting too close to our boundaries," Sherlock stated, before taking his seat and the glass in his hands and gulping it all at once. "You, _on the other hand_, should have warned me he was my age."

"_Should have I_?" The other vampire said, comfortably in his seat. "I recall you not listening to me when I speak." He grinned, while Sherlock poured in the glass more blood from a bottle nearby. "Help yourself, there's more in the dungeons." Mycroft said, now getting up slowly. Sherlock just continued to ignore his presence. "I'm afraid I'll be leaving now to investigate an invasion that happened last night before you were found."

"_No_." Sherlock immediately said, where his brother reacted arching his eyebrows surprised. "Let me investigate it." He announced, getting up from his seat.

"Are you sure?" He asked, in a doubtful manner. Sherlock continued drinking the blood and glaring at his brother. "This is curious." Mycroft continued to say, still with an amused grin on his face. "Don't you want to recover yourself first?"

"You know that if I do that, the trail would be gone." Sherlock pouted. His brother certainly knew this, but just wanted to test him. _Ridiculous_.

"Of course." Mycroft grinned, now taking his cane he left resting on the side of the table and going towards the end of the room. "Well, if you must. I have some affairs to attend to, anyway. Farewell."

Sherlock said nothing, but continued to drink as much blood as possible until he was full. When wounded, the first step for a vampire to take was to feed - it would speed up the healing process, not so fast, though, but it would take less time to heal than it would without any -, because of the loss of blood. When done, Sherlock went upstairs to the closet and took a clean white shirt to put on.

The trespass that happened the night before was obviously the werewolf that had saved him. He couldn't manage to understand why the creature had done such a thing - they were mortal enemies, for centuries -. The wolf had the opportunity to kill him, but he didn't. Instead, he saved him from his certain death and even showed compassion. Sherlock's thoughts wondered about his encounter with the hound, and he was decided on finding him. He left the castle needing to know who he was.

Sherlock went on, into the woods, to his latest dangerous quest. _Where could you be, my handsome wolf?_

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>I have also posted this on livejournal. I'll be updating this monthly and comments are what motivates me! Hope you all enjoy this roller coaster of emotion's I'll put you all through.


	2. Chapter II

**Title: **A Toast to Eternity_  
><em>**Pairing: **Sherlock/John_  
><em>**Note: **Vampire AU._  
><em>**Rating: **NC-17 in later chapters. _  
><em>**Description:**For centuries vampires and werewolves have been in war. Any sort of relationship with the enemy are strictly forbidden - but then again, Sherlock was never fond of following the rules._  
><em>**Warning: **Sexual scenes.

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><p><strong>Chapter II<strong>

_"To a vampire, love is a complex sentiment; very much like obsession"_

The first place Sherlock checked was where the werewolf had left him the last night. He recognized the scent and the tree where he had rested on, surrounded by wolf tracks. At this spot, he bent down on one knee and touched the animal paw prints on the forest ground, lining the borders with his fingers. A small grin appeared on his face, and he got up, filled with excitement.

He followed the trail of broken branches and prints, recording of all the effort the werewolf made just to get him there safely. Sherlock couldn't help feeling anxious, to see how his saviour's true appearance, without the transformation. That ash blond fur was obviously the colour of his hair, but the eyes... The eyes were the most important part of a werewolf, and to him they were still a mystery. Would they be their original colour or or would they be golden, just like the elder werewolves?

Sherlock reached the end of the trail, just by the borders of the werewolf territory. Trespassing meant being hunt down, so he had to be careful. Obviously he wouldn't go deep, he planned to stay near the borders. If the werewolf had went through all that trouble to keep him alive, he would come to him again.

He took a step in.

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><p>John had been in war with himself for the last twenty four hours. He had saved an enemy, and for the cost of what? <em>My life<em>, he thought, pessimistic. He ran his hands through his hair, both arms supported on the table. He tried to come in peace with himself by thinking that it had been done with reason - the brother he lost was because the other side had lost a sister for the other's fault -. But he knew, deep down, that wasn't exactly why he had taken such actions.

At first, when he saw that vampire resting on that tree, he knew he should finish him off. That's what he wentto_ do_ in the first place, seeing his brother lying dead on the forest floor, retaliated. But what stopped him from doing so was the way the vampire reacted. The tall, pale figure at his front had closed his eyes in acceptance - he accepted that he would die at that moment -. How could John do this, now? The vampire was defenceless and had only done what had to be done. What sense was there on this war, if not a childish feud?

John sighed, wiping the sweat off his face. If his siblings knew what he had done, he would be sentenced. But he wasn't a killer, despite being assigned and done as much.

The door of the wooden house suddenly opened, a woman with curly hair and tanned skin appeared at the front, carrying a worried expression. "John. There has been a trespass," She announced.

"What?" It was the vampire he saved, he was almost certain. Why would he do this? _To get my attention, obviously_. "What happened to the others?" He asked, wondering why she had talked to him and not other, more important, werewolves. She just shrugged in response. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it." John dismissed his sister, signalling with his hand.

* * *

><p>Sherlock remained by the borders, moving constantly. He was trying to be seen, to get some attention, but not too much. He wondered what Mycroft would've thought of him in this situation; then again, Mycroft was the same thing as boredom. Where <em>was<em> the excitement on meeting old vampires every month?

Sherlock waited for a while, getting more anxious by the passing minute. This was such a reckless move of his part, and quite stupid, truly; but he didn't give much thought on the part of his brain that screamed '_dangerous'_. He _needed_ to meet that wolf. Just one more time. He'd deal with the consequences of his actions afterwards.

He heard a howl, not far away from his current position. Sherlock would've run away, but he recognized it as the same howl from the night before. Sherlock grinned, playing nervously with his fingers.

And then there he was. _The wolf with the ash-blond fur. _Right in front of him, glaring – action to which Sherlock responded with a wide, receptive, grin –. The werewolf leapt beside him, growling. Sherlock was eyeing the creature in too much awe to get alarmed. The wolf growled one more time and ran off. It was obviously making its way out of the werewolf territory, Sherlock was supposed to follow him and get out of danger.

Sherlock immediately ran after it, filled with excitement. But even after they were out the territory, the hound didn't transform, to Sherlock's disappointment. It maintained its pose, eyes placed over Sherlock's in an angry way while surrounding him. Sherlock couldn't be less worried: not only was he not afraid of the creature, but he was too dazed by it to take the situation seriously.

"I want to see you." Sherlock announced, telling the werewolf his intentions, who just responded a clearly unfriendly growl. "If you don't show me your true form, I'll hunt you." The wolf's eyes glared at him, daring him on doing so.

The next growl it gave obviously meant "_Stay the fuck away_", but Sherlock just smiled, amused. The wolf turned and headed off.

"I warned you." Sherlock said almost to himself. He ran after it.

Sherlock hadn't felt like this in years – no, _centuries_ –, the feeling of desire, of wanting something this bad. He didn't even remember he _could _actually feel like this.

The wolf's pace got faster. Sherlock knew those woods like the back of his hand, and quickly made a turn on where the result was landing in the wolf's front, catching it by surprise. It stopped, taken aback with the vampire that appeared out of nowhere.

Sherlock took a step closer.

"Transform." He ordered, closing even more the space between them. The hound drove itself backwards, unable to move further because of a tree behind it. Seeing this, Sherlock pounded onto the werewolf, pushing him on the ground. "_Transform._" He ordered, one more time. The wolf, carrying an expression of discomfort, did what was ordered against its will.

Sherlock found himself on top of a naked adult male with ash-blond hair, pinned onto the ground between Sherlock's legs. Sherlock immediately used one of his hands to lock the man's wrists, trapping him properly so there was no way of escape.

He didn't find him less beautiful, on the contrary – if it was even possible –, he found the werewolf _even_ _more_ fascinating. His gaze was fixed on the man's features: his lightly turned up nose, his solid body, and his heavy golden eyes.

"G-Get off of me." The werewolf growled, like an order. Sherlock ignored his request, taking his head towards the man's neck, savouring it. _Delicious_, he thought, while placing the tip of his tongue on where he'd bite, if he were to devour a victim.

John stiffened, feeling the vampire lick his neck. He tried to free his hands from the creature's grip, but it was useless.

Sherlock now examined the werewolf's collarbone – his pulse had increased, the pounding of the vein on his neck was attractively noticeable –. He felt the man harden beneath him and a grin crossed his face, looking into the werewolf's eyes.

John blushed, eyes fixed on the vampire before looking away nervously, trying again to escape the grip. He then looked to the vampire one more time, in protest.

Sherlock looked into the golden eyes and smiled, amused, while taking his hand downwards, travelling around the man's chest. Then he landed it onto the man's well defined abs, to finally stop over his groin. John swallowed hard.

Sherlock played his fingers around it for a moment, not making any sudden movements. John let out a moan.

"S-Stop..." Sherlock ignored again his protests, beginning to stroke it gently. John groaned again.

"Are you sure you want me to stop?" Sherlock breathed in his ear, finding quite arousing pleasing the werewolf.

John swallowed hard, closing his eyes tightly and breathing heavily. He moaned something inaudible, Sherlock could feel him ceasing to resist, taking that as a '_no_' and continuing his work. His hands moved upwards and downwards, at first slowly to finally get faster.

John's breathing was getting heavier, his head was fixed between Sherlock's neck and shoulder. Sherlock could feel the warmth on his cold skin, taking in the werewolf before him. The man was sweating and moaning with pleasure, and Sherlock sensed that himself was getting hard. Their breathing got in sync. John's heartbeats were loud, enough to make Sherlock hear them.

"I-I think I'm g-going to-" John arched up his neck and came in Sherlock's hand. The vampire smiled proudly while looking intently into John's eyes. He took his dripping fingers to his mouth, cleaning the mess with his tongue, gaze still fixed on the werewolf's golden eyes. He slowly let go of the man's wrists.

Sherlock removed himself from on top of the man and sat beside him, resting his back on a tree, breathing heavily. John remained on the ground a little longer before doing the same. The werewolf, though, glared at the vampire by his side.

"Don't act offended, you were the one who saved me." Sherlock announced, brushing his hair backwards with his fingers. John looked away, blushing.

"I know I did. But if I knew this was going to happen-..." John started to say.

"If you actually wanted me to stop, you could've fought back." Sherlock said immediately, fixing his eyes on the werewolf that was resting on a tree beside his. John said nothing in return, his own gaze was locked on the vampire.

"Fine." John frowned and gave up. "...You should have at least asked my name." He said in a lower tone, looking away.

"What?" Sherlock said, taken by surprise. He looked at the werewolf in disbelief. John cleared his throat, blushing.

"I'm John." He announced, looking again in the vampire's eyes. Sherlock continued to eye him, confused. His expression slowly softened.

"Hello, John." He gave a small smirk. "I'm Sherlock."

Both of them were quiet for a moment, lost in each other's gaze, analysing one another. They hear howls, and John's expression turns to worry.

"You have to leave. Now." The werewolf ordered, getting up. Sherlock imitated his movements. There were so many things to say, so many things to ask, but they didn't have the time. "Don't worry about the tracks, I'll cover them."

John proceeds to leave, transforming himself. Sherlock watched him, taking a few steps back to finally run off. He looked back, to see the werewolf one more time, and then returned to his path.

This was just the beginning of a complicated road they decided to follow.

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>As promised, here is the second chapter! The next chapter may take a while longer to be posted, since I have college exams next month. I was actually planning on posting this tomorrow, but it's impossible. So I'm posting this today, that is also my birthday, yay!


	3. Chapter III

**Title: **A Toast to Eternity_  
><em>**Pairing: **Sherlock/John_  
><em>**Note: **Vampire AU._  
><em>**Rating: **NC-17 in later chapters. _  
><em>**Description: **For centuries vampires and werewolves have been in war. Any sort of relationship with the enemy are strictly forbidden - but then again, Sherlock was never fond of following the rules._  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter III<strong>

The trip back to his mansion wasn't nearly as exciting as his hunt; but this disappointment would have to be thrown aside. He now had bigger things to worry about, and all those were consequences of his reckless actions. John had been nice enough to cover his tracks, however, this made Sherlock wonder how far would that werewolf go to hide this secret. He frowned, lost in his thoughts.

Sherlock walked inside the mansion, his gaze was fixed on his hand. He wanted to meet the werewolf again, but how could he? There must be a way that didn't involve putting himself at risk.

This was just before sunrise: he proceeded to his coffin in the dungeons.

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><p>Sherlock woke up and stared at his coffin lid. Red velvet. The same colour as the blood he drank so often. He pushed it open and sat down, checking his wound one more time. It was almost completely healed. He sighed in relief and got up, directing himself towards the dining room.<p>

Of course, there was Mycroft waiting for him. Sherlock sighed impatiently, sitting on where it was indicated him to, across the table. He took a sip of his glass of blood, while Mycroft just observed his movements with a smirk on his face.

"So, are you having fun with your little pet dog?" Mycroft said, grinning while breaking the silence between them. Sherlock arched his eyebrows and immediately turned to look at him. "Of course I knew of it, Sherlock. Who do you take me for?" He said, clearing his throat.

Sherlock frowned, answering nothing while staring at the glass in his hands. If his brother knew about this, wasn't it likely that the others knew of it too?

Mycroft continued his dialogue, even though Sherlock insisted on ignoring him and acting indifferent. "I don't know how you manage to get along with it, though." Sherlock glared at him, as if he had been insulted. "My, my, could it be that we are getting attached?" Mycroft said, grinning, supported on one of his arms. "And I thought you were just toying with him."

"It's none of your business, Mycroft." Sherlock growled, he had enough of this. He drank quickly the rest of his blood, just so he could get out of that hell as fast as possible.

"Sherlock," Mycroft called out, in a serious tone. Sherlock looked at him, almost against his own will. "Our brothers are coming soon."

"I'm aware of this." Sherlock answered in a dead note, while rising up to leave his seat. Mycroft observed his brother, and could tell, without difficulty, that he was feeling at ease.

"Then you know that this plaything... _this_, whatever you are doing – or _planning _on doing –, won't be a secret forever." Mycroft warned, looking directly into Sherlock's eyes. "And that they'll discover."

Sherlock was standing now, examining his brother. He knew Mycroft did care for him, deep down. But he also did know that his actions last night would lead to complicated situations.

Mycroft still hadn't finished. "No," He said, taking in the glass of blood in his hand. "That they probably even _know_."

Sherlock glared at him one more time before leaving the room.

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><p>Sherlock had to find something to distract himself with. The best thing to do was hunt; it would clear his mind. Though he could've just got blood from the dungeons, it would've been easier, but it wasn't the same thing. The encounter the last night with that werewolf had left him not only confused – it left him vulnerable –, even for just a moment.<p>

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><p>The night after that Sherlock didn't feel like hunting, or even doing anything. He wanted to stare to his red velvet lid and be alone with his thoughts. But he got up, left the mansion, and let his legs take him wherever it felt like going to – into the woods –. Before he knew it, he was at the same place he and the werewolf had been the other night.<p>

He just needed space. A time to think. His brothers knew about this. _No_, Mycroft was deducing they knew, it wasn't official. But if they did, he could be easily sentenced.

"Are you regretting your actions towards me?" He heard a voice say. Looking behind him, he found John, leaning against a tree with a compassionate expression on his face.

"Are you?" Sherlock shot back. John sighed and nodded his head. They stayed quiet for a while, both staring intently at each other.

A smirk grew on Sherlock's face. "It's surprising to see you with your clothes on, John. I like you better without them, though."

"Very funny." John faked a laugh, trying to mask his irritation. Sherlock didn't let this pass.

"You seem to have a lot you want to talk about." The vampire pointed out, making John look at him immediately.

"Don't you?" John asked, almost a rhetorical question.

"Sure I do." Sherlock shrugged. "I'll give you the honours."

"Fine." John said, still leaning on the tree. He looked to his side, uncomfortably. He then looked back at Sherlock. "What the hell are we doing?"

Sherlock smirked. "We are talking." John looked at him, obviously irritated.

The vampire sighed. "Use your head, John." He started, making John look at him in annoyance. "I'm not going to kill you because I'm in debt. You, though, didn't have any particular reason to save me, but even so you did." Sherlock said, in a tone of accusation that John couldn't have missed.

"You want me to explain myself?" The werewolf asked in disbelief, arms crossed over his chest.

"Please do." Sherlock signalized with his hand.

John stopped for a while, choosing his words. He looked down."Well, I..." He started saying, but again lost the track of his thoughts. "I don't agree with this war." Sherlock looked at him impatiently.

"I could tell that just by the fact that you saved me. Elaborate."

"If you'd shut up for a moment maybe I would!" He said, annoyed. He recomposed himself, proceeding to his explanation. "I knew about the attack that killed your sister, it was uncalled for. It was only fair for your side to want revenge. But... It's wrong. It's all wrong. We shouldn't have to die because of a centuries old argument."

Sherlock said nothing.

"That's it. I'm finished." John said. Sherlock was still staring at him; John could tell he was taking his own opinions on the matter in consideration. Maybe he felt the same way, maybe, despite being opposites, they weren't so different after all.

"The simplicity of your mind amazes me." Sherlock said suddenly, smirking.

"Really?" John couldn't believe the words coming out of the arrogant vampire's mouth. But apparently the vampire decided to ignore the irony in his question.

"Tell me, how old are you?" Sherlock continued, getting closer to the werewolf, looking intently in his eyes.

"I-I..."John could feel himself suddenly getting suffocated by the vampire's presence, who leaned on to him. John's back was pressed on the tree behind him.

"About 500? No, I'd say 573, to be exact." Sherlock continued, making logical and rational statements. Apparently John would make his thoughts flow a lot easier – he wondered where that could possibly come from –.

"How could you know that?" John was shocked.

"I observe." Sherlock said, looking into John's golden eyes for a long moment. "Now shut up, I need to think." But he didn't move.

Sherlock pulled John's head towards his own. John lost his breath for a moment, his heart was pounding fast and loud. He was certain that Sherlock could hear, making him feel a lot more exposed.

Sherlock did hear, but in a gentle gesture, he put his cold hand over John's chest. John looked up to him, with a puzzled expression. Sherlock slowly leaned down, pressing his lips over John's lightly. John opened his own, breathing in. His hand was holding the vampire's shoulder, he was afraid he would fall down if he hadn't.

Sherlock sucked John's lower lip, making the werewolf moan. John's other hand proceeded to grip tightly Sherlock's curls. John licked the ceiling of the vampire's mouth, making him shiver.

* * *

><p>Mycroft didn't usually walk; he usually just got to places by carriages, unlike his brother. Sherlock would always prefer walking, but then again, he could never begin to understand how the mind of his younger brother worked – it was unpredictable –.<p>

Mycroft had an appointment in town, his carriage was taking him by the stone road down the mansion, the trip was peaceful. They stopped by one of the many small houses, and Mycroft got out of his carriage. He fixed his suit just before knocking on the door, that opened not a long time after his arrival.

The room was extremely hot, even more for a vampire. The fireplace was being used, but this was just the predictable environment.

"A very nice place you got here." Mycroft said politely, looking at his host, whom was sitting at a wooden table, where he seemed to be writing some letter.

"Well, us werewolves don't have nearly as much money as yourselves." He said – something that made Mycroft laugh lightly, amused –.

"Yes." He said, agreeing with the statement. Destiny could be very cruel, even to a leader. "Should we get to business, Lestrade?"

* * *

><strong>AN<strong>: So I did write it just in time, didn't I? Sorry if this chapter seems unorganized, there seems to be something very wrong with my document uploader. Anyway, thank you very much for all the nice comments regarding my birthday, you're all so sweet <3 


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